


The First Draft

by Azirashell_Ascendant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azirashell_Ascendant/pseuds/Azirashell_Ascendant
Summary: I couldn't bear to Delete it.





	The First Draft

*rents in the text are stitched with little stars for now*

Most of you have probably heard of the Kuleshov effect, so please take opinions on our good old fashioned lover boys with a grain of salt. I personally could not parse even a quarter of the angels' interactions while they were up on the screen (_of course,_ a fallen angel is still an angel. Says so right on the tin and everything). Anything that I may have actually gotten right, I owe to all the remarkable gifs that can be found on Pinterest or Tumblr. (Hi, Fuckyeahgoodomens, hi! I love you!! <3)

The longer they live around people, their feelings unconsciously take on more and more human dimensions: friendship, tenderness, and something close to (or perhaps more than) romantic love. Definition really ought to feel constricting; but giving shape (if not precisely names) to their feelings actually enhances their ability to express them. 

Ironically, there does seem to be a human concept that can be named, but not yet fully understood. _(Does that make it... ineffable?)_ Hunger. This evolving idea of hunger is overpowering, surprisingly physical (not necessarily sexual, but we can always hope), intimate. A hunger that seeks to embrace, not ravage or devour. (An appalled Screwtape actually would be sending a strongly worded note.) 

Hunger is not at all what you would call safe, but the fire you are devoured in is welcoming; enveloping softness under all its savagery and sharp edges. 

It's the Universe Crowley doesn't trust. 

Because hunger has introduced another new emotion: Fear. Crowley has known Terror through Divine and Infernal punishments; he is no stranger to Grief or Despair, either. But Terror is a thing for what is happening; Fear is for what might. 

**************

The next time Crowley and Aziraphale find each other, Crowley is bitter, brittle. He has found his first pair of dark glasses. He snarls at a startled Aziraphale, then turns his back to the rest of the tavern: humans and the angel alike. But Aziraphale perseveres, and Crowley, softening, recognizes that the wings still cover him. He also rediscovers how enchanting he finds Aziraphale's adorkable charm. And so Crowley permits himself to be whisked away to the first of many meals, conversations, and cozy evenings.

Crowley's heart never does stop fluttering. Here is this fusty, slightly selfish, rigid, repressed and repressive middle-aged librarian, with a Distinct double chin (if not more); and he is Crowley's Beatrice. 

This archetype of Aziraphale charms the audience as thoroughly as his lover. His fanart is exquisite. Without changing a single thing: still soft, still dorky, still constricted in movement and appearance, Aziraphale is still breathlessly, unfailingly beautiful. 

Do we see ourselves in him? Maybe. I suspect that many of us have days _(months, years)_ where we feel distinctly unsexy (unless you actually are Michael Sheen. Oh my good gods, Michael Sheen). But through our creative and analytical efforts, we have created a certain sense of intimacy with these characters and their world. There's a sweetness to the idea that Aziraphale is beautiful to us because we are seeing him through Crowley's eyes.

I like how circular this is. We may have identified with Aziraphale because we could not imagine being considered attractive, and we end being dazzled by this angel's loveliness. 

That may be why the jump from analyzing Aziraphale's dual journeys to even begin to synthesize them is so frustrating. When going strictly by the text, Aziraphale kind of becomes an object. He is the Beloved, the Pursued. Aziraphale is charming and desirable, blossoming with innocent sweetness. And so he seems to have way more opportunities to be loved than to be loving.

This is a very nice way of saying that there is not a lot of...reciprocity in their relationship. 

**************

Magical tumblr girl _(I have gotten way more mindful about citations since this. If you know, please help. I Needs my attribution hit!)_ points out that it is almost always Aziraphale who suggests lunch, who turns their interactions into relaxing dates afterwards (I think her exact wording was turning their business into social occasions.) 

Crowley makes grand, romantic gestures. Aziraphale's gestures are the little touches that make everyday life worth living. Aziraphale invites Crowley into his Own safe spaces; always turning them into places of refuge for our lonely snake. 

Well, when they are close. Aziraphale's war with his instincts pushes the two in and out of each other's orbit. Azirafuck notes that "from day one crowley's been the one who tiptoes closer but says nothing and aziraphale's been the one who lifts his wing to welcome and protect him, and they just kept doing that for 6000 years."  
But Aziraphale is tiptoeing too. The growing conviction that _"They will destroy you" _has recast his feelings into an anxiety that can only protect at a distance. Crowley unfailingly flies to Aziraphale's aid; Aziraphale now flies away: 'I can only can keep you safe by saying no.' Yeah, have you noticed that never works?

**[Guess what? I have NO idea how to parse Camelot interaction. (our family now consistently greet people by saying "s'all right guys, s'all right. I know him," if that helps at all) Crowley _does_ do his cobra charm sway in full plate armor though. Wow, Tennant. Just wow.]**

By 1603, Crowley appears to have the human experience to understand his feelings and the language to define it. He's not using it, naturally, but it doesn't matter. Crowley's physicality gives the game away. He has begun to coil around Aziraphale...Protectively? Possessively? Or simply in aesthetic admiration? Crowley is certainly all enamoured indulgence; finding only pleasure in Aziraphale's buffoonery: 'Wow, my boyfriend is such a dork.' Underneath, he is carefully drawing Aziraphale into closer, more consistent intimacies. In turn, being the center of Crowley's coils (and attention) is leaving Aziraphale giddy.

Between 1793 and 1862, I think it's pretty clear that Crowley is now actively courting Aziraphale. I'm sorry, flowers And chocolates? Aziraphale flying on wings of love to their 1862 meeting? (Cut scenes are canon, and I'm not budging on this. Not even with a card table and a "Change my mind" sign)

In light of what is admittedly my (text-supported!) headcanon, 1862 becomes a bit clearer. Aziraphale's "fraternizing" not only mischaracterizes their romance, it reframes their entire relationship for the past 60-67ish years. He is not only undoing Now; he has left Crowley feeling very lost and alone, a beach with a very sudden and very confusing low tide. He gapes _silently But we are in love! We were in love! Aren't we still? We were! We...were. _(At the heart of it, at least. Up top, he's too busy shooting the angel who out drew him.) The desire to strike back also comes on sudden, rushing waves. But rages tend to have riptides. This kind drowns mercilessly; Crowley curls up in bed and sleeps for decades.

And so we come to 1941. Of course, first off, this is The moment when Aziraphale realizes that they are in love with each other. With all due deference to Michael Sheen, I still contend that Aziraphale didn't properly Understand the nature of Crowley's feelings before now, and discovers both at the same time. My beautiful oblivious dork. ^_^ So it goes without saying that he wouldn't have understood his own either. (I give him a pass here too; because honestly, who does? We all discover it, not call it into being). 

1967  
Seeing Aziraphale in his car stuns Crowley nearly breathless. That Aziraphale brings up the Holy Water again nearly leads to tears. (You can see Tennant's adam's apple shudder while he's simultaneously gasping for air.) Then Aziraphale pulls out the thermos and all pretence of breathing stops.

Theologie describes this moment as a near literal offering of Aziraphale's heart. 

"I am literally not even kidding they light the focused red as aziraphale hands it over trembling and crowley accepts it with reverence and disbelief going "it's the real thing?" IT IS HIS LITERAL HEART." 

Time starts up again. Diffident Crowley is now brave enough to declare himself. The first one gets the "Don't look so disappointed. We'll...[just go on the way we were.]" Crowley responds by somewhat desperately amplifying the soft humility. 'We'll do whatever you want, the way you want to...just, please?' 

"_You go too fast."_

This is worlds away from the confident, oh-so-cool "Lift home?" of 1941. That may be why this is the first time we see the pattern[] of Crowley declaring himself twice. In true Crowley form/fashion, Crowley lays himself bare and gets rejected and lays it out Again. Anthony Janthony Crowley, under his cynicism and snark, is eternally constant, vulnerable, and brave; True Love personified.

Well...the patient, kind, no brag or boasty kind, at least. He ticks every box. Except being able to put Aziraphale's needs above his own. 

You would think that this is Aziraphale's besetting sin. There are times when he doesn't seem to put _anyone's_ needs above his own. But our Tempter extraordinaire has a rhythm to his romance: meet me, meet me, meet me, come to me, come with me. And, in 1967, stay with me. 

Tempters remind us how closely related captivate is to capture. To draw in the object of their desires (what they _hunger_ for), they lure, they encircle, they ensnare. And when their prey(?) has at last been drawn close, they bind. Think of Kaa, another seductive serpent, and you can actually see the coils. Aziraphale coquettes, flounces, and charms. But it's invariably Crowley that we see trying to bring Aziraphale into himself. So, so many of his temptations are snaked, whether they are romantic or not. Even in 1967, Crowley, in his very own humility and submission, is still trying to touch what _he_ so desperately wants. (Stop snickering) For all his flaying and grand gestures and patience, Temptation is a shield Crowley cannot lay down.

So he backs off into a respectful friendliness. They flirt outrageously, bicker like an old married couple (as they are); the casual easiness of their intimacy just blends them seamlessly into each other. Crowley Adores Aziraphale, there's simply no other word; Aziraphale is dizzy, charmed, longing...and conflicted. They really do almost succeed in maintaining a place that is 'the way things were'. Almost. 

Existing fissures begin to crack in Tadfield Manor. True to form, Crowley has been indulging Aziraphale's whims all day; Aziraphale offering sweet smiles and huge eyes in return. Flirtatious and bantery, emotional manipulation has never been more charming. After all, right now it's a game for two; Crowley is mostly giving as good as he gets.

And then, in a moment that is more likely provocative than oblivious, Aziraphale pushes his "oh, you big softie" schtick too far. The tiny pang of resignation and regret (which I'm sure comes up all the time with no bones broken) this time flares into a small burst of rage.

_"I'm not Nice. Nice is a four letter word."_ Like Love, for example, or kiss, or hold. I'm a demon, remember? You should, for as often as you remind me. So, no, I don't do disinterested agape or random fellow feeling. I do it for YOU. I do it only for you. All for you, you bastard, and you _know_ it. 

I interpret this moment as a reminder of the intensity of Crowley's feelings; many others see a reminder of the intensity of his pain. Maybe you could call it a juxtaposition of 'Don't even go there' and 'May I remind you why we don't?'

It's a reminder for us too, that Crowley has, in fact, Fallen. He is not just a snarky, loveable prankster; there is an uncrossable gulf that keeps both his God and his beloved heartbreakingly beyond his reach. 

He still reaches out. It's personal, intimate; is this how they had talked before? (_"I only ever asked questions!"_). Everyone else makes phone calls. Crowley is the only one who prays; for mercy, not on humanity, but for Humans. Like his buddy Shakespeare, he loves them; loves them Because he sees them clearly. 

_"You shouldn't test them to destruction."_

The greatest fucking irony though is that Humans 'pass the test'. They respond to the nuclear crisis with communication, cooperation, and trust. Madame Tracy literally wrestles with an Angel to save the life of a little boy (suck it, Jacob); the Them face both their nightmares and the futures they will create with calm bravery and decisive beliefs. 

THIS is the Humanity that Crowley intercedes for: the beings that imagined and built enough weapons of destruction to lay waste to an entire planet; the beings that, through empathy and cooperation, work together to stop the impending cataclysm. 

Aziraphale is in love with the world itself: the pleasures, the beauty, the new magics every day. In love with Crowley. I don't think it's more selfish; it is another one of their beautiful complements: each together encompasses the whole.

They are perfect complements in heaven as on earth. Aziraphale's faith is simple, childlike, and trusting (nothing wrong with that); but as it conflicts more and more with his innate goodness and kindness, it flickers. 

When Aziraphale says those horrible, ugly things about being holy, it's yet again about reinforcing himself (and the need to be a 'good' kid, not just a kid who does good). Battling his own demons; he completely loses sight of the one in front of him.

This time, Crowley, wholly rejected and actively demeaned, loses his cool. For the first time in their history together, _for the first time in history_, Crowley's gentle challenging becomes something like an assault; his undulating snake charm is now a cobra ready to strike. Hissing his last words, he storms off: 1862 in a funhouse mirror. 

Aziraphale calls him back. In the Last Temptation of Crowley, he seduces, exploits, and challenges in earnest. He throws out 1862 entirely and names their relationship for what it is, _"We're on our side"_. But Aziraphale suddenly recognizes this Temptation for what it is. And he strikes back hard. 

This is the moment where Aziraphale (obliquely) admits that he has lied to and betrayed Crowley. That, honestly, he would do it again. Angel and Snake have swapped places. And so the truth bombs start to fall, with all the precision of...an air strike during the Blitz.

They should be standing naked before each other; but they aren't. Aziraphale cannot overcome that ingrained obedience and Crowley cannot release his need to seduce. Their breakup is gut-wrenching. 

We see them again in front of Aziraphale's bookshop. Always the more self-aware of the two; Crowley is fully conscious and overt. His snakey siren song confesses: _when you cut it right down to the bone, my only world is you. Everything else is frosting. So let's go to Alpha Centauri; the binary stars that merge into one._

Aziraphale is yet again trying to have it both ways: we can be together, maybe even have our love sanctioned, AND I can stop Armageddon without having to change Any of my loyalties or preconceptions. 

The Bookshop is really Bandstand part 2: Aziraphale has _always_ wanted to have it both ways. And once more Crowley lays himself (flays himself?) bare and gets rejected and then flays himself again. A vulnerability that is so breathtakingly courageous. 

But until (oh god, unless?) his angel figures it on his own, Aziraphale is always going to choose Heaven over him. Always. The realization robs Crowley of all his cool "Fine"s, "Obviously"s, shrugs, or sad silences. This time he screams his rage and pain, lashing out in earnest. Good. He can channel that energy into facing some demons that aren't of his own making. 

Not that Crowley is burning hot. The dramatic flair he brings to this endeavor is icy and meticulous. Fortunately, Hastur and Ligur are more than ready to supply the usual bombast and melodrama[]. Must be a demon thing. 

Right in the middle of Crowley's duel to the death, Aziraphale calls, choosing HIM at last. He's dreamed of this moment for _Six Thousand years_, and he doesn't even get to experience it. But Hastur is dealt with and Crowley exultantly flies to the bookshop. To find Hell; beyond any mere place, but in the most literal sense of the world.

Suddenly Armageddon has become irrelevant. Aziraphale's shattered, suicidal Crowley is not going to go on a Roaring Rampage of Revenge, or even desert the "bastards, all of them"; shrugging off the whole mess and flying to the stars. God, what would be the point now? He has flayed himself alive, again, and again. Now he is finally dying from his wounds.


End file.
